Something Wicked This Way Comes
by ColtsAndQuills
Summary: A collection of Halloween drabbles and ficlets. Heavy channeling of the creepy, early season vibes of the show. Perhaps best read with some fluffy fanfic waiting for you in another tab. (Some feature Reader Inserts, some are strictly canon characters.) (No explicit violence/gore).
1. 9:00 PM

The clock at your bedside was nearing one when you felt the bed shift behind you, his chest pressed warmly to your back.

"Mm, welcome home, Dean," you murmured, smiling as he wrapped his hand around your waist.

You were rolling over to kiss him when your phone rang on the nightstand, his name blinking on the caller display.


	2. 10:00 PM

Dean and Sam walked in, their jaws dropping as they saw you sitting in bed, Castiel's wings wrapped warmly around you.

You smiled, eyes rolling to black.

"It's a shame the rest of him had to go to waste."


	3. 11:00 PM

"What's wrong with Cas?" asked Sam.

Dean's bottle struck the table hard enough to make it rattle. He wished Sam would be quiet. It felt like his brother never stopped talking these days. Knowing that he was probably just worried about him, like Cas, didn't soften the frustration, either. If anything, it pissed him off more. He had been through Hell and back. Literally. He could handle a few bad breaks.

"He's bent out of shape because I went hunting without him last night. I swear, it's like having a fucking second shadow these days."

"You should let me talk to him. I'm not trying to get on your case, but you've been kind of strung tight."

Dean went to take another swallow of beer, felt a spike of resentment when he found the bottle dry, but then the anger sputtered and faded, dying soft and quiet as an ember. "Yeah. Yeah, fine. You two should talk. Maybe it'll clear things up. He just doesn't get it, Sammy."

He rose to leave, but Sam called to him as he turned his back.

"Dean. Take it."

Dean paused, his eyes settling uneasily on the slip of silver in Sam's hand. He had given it to him before going hunting a few nights past, worried about what Castiel might try while he wasn't home. But despite that…

"You want us to be one big happy family again, don't you?" Sam pressed. Dean thought he might be smiling.

Lips tight, Dean ruffled Sam's hair in a way that was reminiscent of their childhood. but Sam didn't protest the affectionate gesture.

Meanwhile, Castiel leaned outside the door to Dean's room, out of sight, his breaths quick and tight as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

Thirteen days. Thirteen days since Sam had passed, and still Dean wouldn't allow Sam's body to be put to rest.

The blade in Dean's hand glinted, bright as the lost look in the man's eyes, as he stepped into the hall.


	4. midnight

"Come on, Sammy. Time to get rid of some monsters. This is what we've been practicing for."

The small boy shuffled, caught between wishing to please his older brother and his uncertainty. Dean's moods had gotten worse since their mother's death, John's job moving them from place to place, leaving the older boy anxious, unsettled, like a soldier enlisted too young, just waiting to be called to battle.

Something cold and sharp was shoved into Sam's hand. Something Sam probably wasn't allowed to have at his age.

"I don't know, Dean… Just us? What if this is a bad idea? What if Dad finds out?"

As if on cue, their father appeared in the doorway, a dark silhouette against a warm room Sam wished he was hiding in. Dean nudged Sam, and the younger boy hastily shoved the blade beneath the folds of his shirt.

"You boys going out for Halloween?" John asked. He tried to smile, but it was getting harder these days, his mind too preoccupied, the preciousness of his boys' childhood years lost within the stark reality of his own.

"We're going out to kill monsters!" Sam suddenly cried out. He waited to be reprimanded for sharing the secret; a scolding would be better than going out into the night. He wasn't ready. He didn't know if he'd ever be ready. Young as he was, Sam knew this wasn't the kind of life he wanted. But rather than the saving grace of a punishment, John only sighed.

"Dean." John scowled, shaking his head. "Stop telling your brother monsters are real."

The phone rang, their father swore, and the door was shut, leaving them in the weak light of the front steps.

"Dean… Dad said… "

"Come on."

"But Dad said it was just a fire, Dean! Bad wiring and stuff! It was no one's fault Mom died!"

"He just doesn't know any better," Dean whispered in Sammy's ear. "Now, come on. Time to go hunting."

Sam saw the way Dean was staring after a pair of laughing teenagers walking down the street. Their faces were gruesome and twisted, but it was only a part of their costumes.

But Sam didn't think his brother knew that anymore.


	5. 1:00 AM

"If I'm being honest, it used to frighten me. The idea of being human. It made me feel so… alone."

Castiel looked up from where he sat, meeting Dean and Sam's eyes to make certain they didn't take insult.

"I'm grateful for you both. But – it's hard to explain. As an angel, I was connected to everything, all the time. This world, its hopes and prayers, deaths and sorrows, they were always with me. In the background. It was like… being in a busy coffee shop. You don't really notice all the life and energy around you, take for granted that it's there. Until it's not."

He swallowed, then. His grace gone for months now, this time for good, Cas was gradually becoming used to the silence humans lived with. He had been sad at first, but week by week, Sam and Dean had given him new and better noises with which to fill the emptiness.

He could no longer hear the passing of a star, but he could hear the sizzle of bacon in a pan, the low hum of Dean singing along to the little radio they kept near the stove, the one you had to tease the music from by wrestling with a broken antenna. There was no longer the chatter of "angel radio," but Sam would read to him, whether research or the daily news, the younger Winchester never addressing the issue directly, but patiently aware that Castiel was in need of his voice, no matter the topic. Beautiful human sounds to buffer the loss of eternity.

The brothers didn't say anything, and for their patience with him, Castiel smiled gratefully, if a little awkwardly.

"I just want you to know… thank you. For this. For all of it. It's been so very, very long since I felt like I had a home. A family."

Cas breathed deep and exhaled, his hesitation riding out on his breath.

"I'm glad to be human."

Dean, to Castiel's relief, didn't tease. He didn't even pull away when Cas gave his cold hand a small, tight squeeze of appreciation. And Sam was smiling, just as he always did these days. Getting the expression to look natural had taken a bit of crude effort, but once the job was done, Castiel was glad to see him happy for a change.

"I'm glad to be human," he repeated.

The bunker echoed with laughter, and Castiel, appreciative of the sound, didn't even realize it was his own.


	6. 2:00 AM

It wasn't like you to leave the bar with a stranger. But then again, it wasn't like your town to have a guy like Sam Winchester passing through. Add that to the fact that it was your stool he decided to sit beside, and you knew from the start that this wouldn't be a typical evening.

There were bad jokes and dimpled smiles and maybe a little liquid courage to steel your nerves, but then closing time snuck up on you both, and suddenly you were biting your lip to keep a nervous smile in check, Sam's fingers curling on your hip, guiding you into his motel room.

Carpe noctem, you told yourself.

He quickly had you forgetting any lingering hesitation, his mouth and tongue smothering your doubt, sure fingers coaxing out a bolder you with every inch explored. It wasn't until your arms were guided behind you, and there came the soft click of metal in your ear, that you remembered you were with a stranger.

In your surprise, your teeth came down, and he pulled away with a low grunt.

"Sam…?" you gasped.

He stopped immediately, the hunger on his face tempered with concern.

"Sorry, sorry! If you don't want to, we don't have to." His eyes flicked to the headboard, almost as if surprised to see the events unfolding there.

You shifted against the mattress, your senses conflicted, strung between the cold cuffs on your wrists and the warm palm splayed on your bare leg.

"You like this kind of stuff?" you asked, cautious.

"Sometimes." He smiled sheepishly, and you were brought back to the bar, to the silly puns and shared pretzels and little crinkles the corners of his eyes made when he laughed.

It drew out a smile of your own. "I didn't peg you as the type. This is, uhh, kind of different for me."

His eyes locked on your lips, and you saw his breath catch. All that from a smile? He really knew how to win a girl over.

But a bead of his blood rested on your mouth, unseen and unfelt by you. Sam reached down, his thumb lazily dragged across the plush skin, painting it sinful before claiming it with a kiss, soft and deep.

"How about this?" He murmured against you. "We give this a try, but if you don't like it, if you want me to stop, I will. No questions, no problem."

No sooner had you nodded your consent then he continued where he left off, and soon your only protest was to how his layers of clothing were desperately outnumbering your own.

"Remember," he whispered, and your world went dark as the silk of his tie was drawn over your eyes. "You're in control. Just tell me to stop and I will."

At this point, you wouldn't dream of telling him to stop, but life didn't care much for what you wanted: a fist knocked the door, the raps sharp and quick, like the bark of orders.

You both froze, listening. After a short time, when neither of you moved, the sound came again.

"Who the hell does that?" Sam slid from the bed, and your body immediately chilled with the loss of his warmth.

"Sam?" you called out.

"Just a sec," he answered, and you heard the whine of the door as he edged it open.

You waited for his angry protest at the interruption, or maybe the drunk ramblings of another lodger who had lost his key, but neither came.

Silent seconds ticked by.

"Sam?"

The pause seemed to fill your mouth, your chest, so heavy and quiet you could hear distant traffic, the sound of water running overhead in pipes, but not Sam.

You twisted your wrists within the cuffs, scraped your cheek against the pillow, but your lover, apparently, was well versed in tying a knot.

"Sam?"

The door was still open. You could feel the autumn air slip in, drawing icy fingers between your breasts, along your ribs, licking the skin Sam left vulnerable and exposed.

But still there was no sound, no murmur or reassurance. Nothing.

Not until the door whispered closed, the creak of the wood like a snicker in the dark.

"Sam!"

You pulled at your bonds, even as you felt the bed dip and a warm palm stroke your hair.

"Sam, get me out of this! I don't want to do this anymore. I'm scared."

"Oh, sweetheart."

Your heart stilled, so that your world was narrowed to only the sound of your ragged breathing and Ruby's whisper at your ear.

"You don't know the meaning of the word. Yet."


	7. 3:00 AM

"You get your ass to Bobby's and you stay there. You hear me? We've got every damn demon in the state on our ass and the last thing we need is a damsel in distress."

"I should be coming up on his place in a minute." The wheel pulled in your hands as you glanced at the passenger's seat, eyeing the map Sam had marked up in haste. "And Dean, you call me a damsel again, and it's going to be me you have to run from."

"Just stay safe. Sam and I will be there in a few hours, to–"

You swore as the car bucked over a dip in the road, your phone jostled out from under your chin and sent skittering to the floor.

"Shit! Dean, dropped the phone! I'll call you back later!" you shouted.

You didn't dare take your eyes from the path. Twisted snarls of branches stretched out where they had fallen from October winds, and the way was dark, revealing itself only in the pale stare of your highbeams. You understood the point of secrecy, but couldn't this Bobby guy have picked an obscure apartment in the city? Maybe a nice townhouse in a gated community?

Finally, with another half a mile of forest put behind you, the yellow eyes of a cottage blinked through the trees. You pulled in noisily, letting the engine sputter and growl, giving Bobby fair warning of your arrival. Dean and Sam had called ahead, so he was bound to be on the alert, and you didn't need some trigger-happy old guy filling you with some buckshot as a howdy.

Those warm windows were about the prettiest damn things you had ever seen, and you wasted no time in racing to the door, eager to put some solid walls between you and the darkness.

"Bobby! It's me!" you called, banging on the door.

You saw the shadow of footsteps fill the crack below, and a series of locks chorused as they were twisted and plucked free of holdings.

"Oh, thank God," you exhaled as golden light bathed you clean of shadow.

"I wouldn't say that just yet," he replied, his eyes moving suspiciously between you and the car.

"I'm the one Sam called about. Sorry, this is a terrible introduction, but things got really messy back there. But don't worry, I wasn't followed." Without being asked, you pulled out a small bottle of holy water, and knocked it down faster than the finest shot of whisky. "Okay?"

That seemed to convince him, for he stepped aside, and you were quick to accept the invite.

"Where are the boys?" he asked, closing the door behind you.

"They won't be here for another few hours. But don't worry, they're safe."

You smiled, happy not only to find some much needed rest, but also to meet the man you had heard so much about from Sam and Dean.

"It's funny," you said, grinning, and he smiled pleasantly in return. "They never told me your were British."


End file.
